‘H
eard from Ward?’ Stacey asked, seated at the table flicking through a magazine in Zara’s bright kitchen.
‘He’s called a few times,’ replied Zara, dabbing her paintbrush into the small tin of white paint.
‘Have you actually talked to him, or are you still screening his calls?’
‘I can’t believe Billy gave out my number in the first place.’
‘I’d do the same you know, Ward’s nice.’
‘He is.’ Zara tried to hide her smile and picked up a flat grey stone.
‘See, you like him. So, what’s the big deal?’
Zara shrugged, applying a base coat to the pebble in hand. She let it rest beside a few dozen similar shaped stones drying on sheets of newspaper spread across her kitchen table.
‘What’s your painting theme this time?’ Stacey asked, sipping from her cup.
‘Little houses. I’ll pile them up on this piece of driftwood like a suburb.’ The inspiration came from dropping off Ward, the last time she saw him, standing beneath the suburban streetlight on the winding road.
‘Are you avoiding him because you’re scared you’re gonna get hurt?’
Zara’s paintbrush paused in the air. There were a few reasons why.
‘You know, the boys warned him off.’
‘Why?’ Zara frowned.
‘Because they care.’ Stacey put her hand on Zara’s and said, ‘Didn’t you tell us to let go of our past.’
‘Why cling to the bad?’
‘Isn’t that what you’re doing to yourself?’
Zara narrowed her eyes at Stacey, only sixteen, and a mother wise beyond her years.
‘We don’t think Ward is the type to hurt you like your ex did.’
‘No one thought Paul was like that either.’ Zara hated saying his name, even after all this time. ‘Besides, in a few days, Ward will forget all about me. He’ll be too busy doing his thing, and I’m busy doing my thing,’ Zara said, stabbing paint onto the pebble.
Her mobile rang and she checked the caller. ‘Were his ears burning?’ She dropped the phone face down and let it ring.
‘Who is it?’ Stacey turned it over. Her eyes widened as she snatched the phone and answered it. ‘Hello?’ Stacey grinned and ducked from Zara.
‘I’m not here,’ whispered Zara, waving her hands like a traffic cop in a no-go zone.
‘Hi Ward, it’s Stacey. You wanna talk to Zara, huh?’
Zara bolted for the door, but Stacey grabbed the back of her shirt.
‘Hold on, I’ll get her.’ Stacey shoved the phone into Zara’s hand. ‘Talk to him.’
‘Biatch.’ Zara wanted to drop the phone like it was a burning brick.
‘Enjoy.’ Stacey laughed, closing the front door behind her.
Zara cleared her throat and winced at the phone as the heat crept up her neck. ‘Hello?’
‘Hey, is this really your phone number?’ called out Ward.
‘Yeah, why?’
‘I was beginning to think Billy gave me the wrong one.’
‘You’re lucky to have this number.’
‘Why?’
‘Because we don’t give it to anyone.’
‘You don’t share your number for work?’
‘No. The only people who have my mobile is the family, and now you, so please don’t give it to anyone.’
‘Wow, I’m privileged to be part of that inner circle—that’s a racing term, right?’
‘Winner’s circle.’ She nervously giggled, fidgeting with the paintbrush in the jar, where the white paint clouded the water.
‘So how come no one at the racetrack has your number? How do you get bookings for work?’
‘They ring the house and the family takes a message.’
‘Why? Are you screening calls?’
‘Yes. I pick my clients.’ Just like she’d screened his too. Oops. Obvious much? ‘I might squeeze in the odd request when I’m trackside. Otherwise, I’ve got a regular weekly schedule from racehorse trainers and I’m already booked-out for the oncoming spring racing carnival.’
‘What racing carnival?’
‘Everyone knows the race that stops a nation.’ She paused.
But Ward said nothing.
‘I’m talking about The Melbourne Cup.’ How could he not know Australia’s most famous horse race!
‘Oh, yeah. Forgot.’ He cleared his throat, sharing an embarrassed chuckle. ‘So, I’m guessing the Melbourne Cup for you would be like the AFL Premiership Cup for me. They’re both going for gold in a cup.’
‘I never thought of it like that.’ She giggled at the comparison.
‘So, if another person wanted your help what do you guys do?’
‘They’ll tell them I don’t do people and to look in the phone book, we have a list of names to try.’
‘And if they wanted to book you in for a house call?’
‘I don’t do house calls, except for you.’ Her shoulders hunched up as she pursed her lips at the admittance. Why was this so hard?
‘I’m so glad you made those house calls.’ His chuckle made her smile so wide, her heart warmed, picturing his smile that hid the scar on his chin.
‘So how are you feeling? No pain?’ Trying to steer this conversation to a strictly patient-carer call. Even if it was nice he rang, she had to give him points for persistence.
‘I’m great. I’m back in training and owe you a carton from the specialist cancelling my surgery.’
‘I’m so glad to hear that.’ Relief swamped her in bucket-loads. ‘Are you playing this weekend?’
‘I dunno?’ He sighed so deep, she frowned with concern. ‘Wish I did, because this waiting sucks.’
Her heart squeezed for his sorrow, finding it hard to keep this call professional.
‘I’ve passed the medical, the physical, yet, for the first time, I had to ask the coach if I’m playing and he won’t give me an answer. I hate this, not knowing which position I’ll play—when I’ve played in the same position for years. Or if I’ll play at all. It’s like he’s not convinced of my recovery. I bet he’ll put me in the lower grades.’
Her shoulders sagged as if carrying the weight of Ward’s disappointment. ‘It’s understandable.’
‘How? Greg, our captain, said the coach doesn’t want to put me in any danger. I wouldn’t risk myself, and I hate being left out when I can prove I’m ready to play.’
‘Why prove it to this coach?’
‘He’s God.’
‘Brendan—'
‘Am I in trouble?’
‘No.’ She gave a short laugh at his boyish charm, which made it harder to distance herself from him. ‘Why do you need this coach’s approval so much?’
‘To play again.’
‘Do you believe you can do it?’
‘Yes.’
‘And that’s all you need to hear. End of story.’
‘Um?’
‘If you believe in yourself, you don’t need the approval from anyone else. If this coach doesn’t think so, that’s his problem, not yours. You only need to have faith in you.’
‘If I don’t have the coach’s approval I’ll be dropped to the lower grade.’
‘Where you’ll kick arse proving to this coach he was wrong.’
‘Mmm.’
There was silence on the phone.
‘Are you okay, does it hurt to think?’ Zara asked, giggling.
‘Did you hear the gears clunk?’
‘Is that what that rusty noise was?’ She could hear the sounds of the TV and men’s voices in the background.
‘You’ll keep.’
‘How’s Max?’
‘He’s claimed the man-couch just like you said, playing couch-tag with Mills, who regularly crashes on the thing.’
‘Is the dog keeping it warm for Mills?’
‘More like the other way around. Max is spoilt, and my housemates keep feeding him. When are you coming to collect Max?’
‘I’m not.’
‘Why not?’ Ward whined.
‘Its obvious Max is where he wants to be.’
‘I didn’t ask for this.’
‘Is Max destroying your garden? Is he chewing up your shoes, peeing on the carpet, or slobbering on your television? Oh no, don’t tell me he’s taken over your reclining chair. Or are you having trouble getting team logo doggy-designer dishes to match the décor of your man-cave?’
Ward laughed ‘No. Max eats from the salad bowl we never use.’
‘Don’t tell my dad that, he’s still fighting me with his food choices.’
‘We blend all our daily nutrients into one bullet for the morning.’
‘You also run a daily mini-marathon and you’re not in your seventies.’
‘True.’
‘So, do your housemates hate Max?’
‘They want Max to stay and brag about him all the time. Sam’s even bought Max this fancy big studded collar.’
‘To go with the bad boy image, right?’ Zara laughed, imagining it.
‘Yep, they’ve butched his bling, and Nick’s brought him this fancy organic dog wash too. I haven’t had to do anything.’
‘Is Max scaring your visitors away?’
‘Mum loves Max, although we’ve only seen Tina once when her allergies acted up, so that part’s bliss.’
‘Well, what’s the problem with having Max around?’ Zara paced her kitchen floor, unsure of this whole conversation. She didn’t talk to men unless it was for work or for family.
On the other end of the phone, it sounded like a door was being closed shutting out all background noises, except for Ward’s sigh. ‘I’ve never looked after a dog, and I’m worried I’ll mess up.’
Her heart fell as fast as it took for her to sit.
‘I’ve never been responsible for anything in my life. Which is stupid for a guy my age.’
‘How can you say that? You play a part in a team.’
‘It’s because everything else is taken care of. This is a club house, we’ve got a gardener and a cleaner. Our mothers cook us meals for the freezer, or we get fed at the Clubhouse.’
Ward sounded ashamed of himself. ‘You can afford not to worry about those things. We pay Stacey to do our cleaning and I live on my own.’
‘I’ve never had to take care of anything but myself my entire life. Sounds selfish, but it’s true, Zara. Max has been through hell and I don’t want to ruin it for him by stuffing up when I’ve never owned a pet.’
Why was this man single? He was almost perfect. ‘Perhaps Max recognizes you won’t take him for granted, and that you’ll be someone who’d treat him like a mate and not as a pet.’
Again, there was a silent pause on his end.
‘Remember when my dad asked you to help us with that pony we rescued, you said you didn’t know anything about horses? What did Dad say to you?’
‘That I had no bad habits.’
‘You’re not useless—’
‘Just not used to it,’ he finished. ‘But—’
‘Why not try it for a week. If it’s not working out, call me and I’ll come and get him. Until then I won’t go near your place.’ If ever.
‘Are you avoiding me?’
She chewed her bottom lip and tried to think of a gentle response to a question she didn’t want to answer. She did want to see him—but didn’t, which confused her on all levels.
‘Hey, I asked a nurse about that Florence Nightingale syndrome?’
‘You didn’t?’ Zara covered her mouth to stop her laugh, impressed with his inquisitive mind and bravado.
‘I did,’ he said with smile to his voice. ‘I’m not shy about asking, which might be the only thing my sister and I have in common.’
‘Not her cooking?’
‘I don’t do peppered mud,’ Ward said, chuckling. ‘Anyway, the nurse explained the Nightingale thing and I understand your point too.’
‘I want you to focus on yourself.’ How could Ward be so sure it wasn’t just a passing phase? She lived in the country and liked to keep to herself. He was a city boy living in a bachelor pad with a hectic social life.
Zara stared out her kitchen window that framed the farm. She loved this place. She smiled as Tim rode the quad with the toddler, Toby, in his lap while the greyhounds raced behind them. Joe and Adam worked under the bonnet of the old Holden sedan. Billy was practising at the punching bag in the shade of the shed. Stacey hung out the washing at her dad’s house, feeding her prized pet hens picking at the lawn beneath her. Why would Ward be bothered with her?
She shook her head, pacing the floor in her odd socks. Nope, Ward was a client. Maybe a friend, too. Sure, it’d been an intense few days with the guy to get him back on his feet, and she’d done that. Job done.
‘I want to focus on my game, but it doesn’t mean I have to forget about everything else. Like you, Z.’
She melted on the spot. Why was he making this so hard?
Ward broke the awkward silence. ‘How’s that horse you rescued?’
‘You helped me.’
‘I did not.’
‘Yes, you did. It’s something to be proud of.’ She wanted him to be proud, because she liked him—too much.
‘Have you got a name for him?’
‘Norm.’
‘That fits. Did Toby choose it?’
‘He did, and Norm answers to it too.’ She finally relented and sat at the kitchen table where they spoke for ages, not about football, but everything else that went on in their lives. Yet, they lived in two different worlds that she couldn’t see blending together.